"Sit still, daddy. Hold your arm like that till I get the water and bandages—there's still hot water, I think. It's only a scratch. Grip your arm there."
Torrance, suddenly weak at the sight of his own blood, sank into a chair, staring at the stained sleeve.
"Say, Big Chief, you're a good sport. I guess you came in time—Say!
Where's he gone?"
The window in Tressa's room rattled.
"By hickory! If that fellow don't owe me something I don't know about, he's running up a big bill against me."
CHAPTER XV
KOPPY MAKES A THREAT
Though he had emerged from a perilous situation with little damage, Torrance was nursing a keen sense of injury when Conrad returned from his visit to the Police and saw a light still burning in the shack. The foreman listened to the story with more concern than anger. The danger lay not in what the bohunks demanded—they could resist that—but in the insolent confidence that put the demand into words. Therein, was displayed a disturbing sense of power, a reckless daring to strike the boss in his most sensitive convictions. It could only mean that they were prepared to bring matters to a head without loss of time.
And the trestle was just ready for the final touches!
That the incident increased the difficulties of his own position did not enter Conrad's head. Thoughtful eyes moving from father to daughter, his first words betrayed his main anxiety.